Nothing good ever happens in the Hemlock Wood at night.
On a typical Friday night at the local diner, five friends found themselves locked in the same argument they had every weekend: what was there to do in a town as small and painfully boring as Foxglove Falls?
Suggestions were tossed around between bites of fries and half-finished milkshakes. The old quarry. The lake. The abandoned train tracks. None of it sparked much enthusiasm. They had exhausted nearly every form of entertainment the town had to offer years ago.
That was when Eli leaned back in the booth with a grin that immediately put everyone on edge.
"I've got an idea," he said.
"No," August replied instantly.
"You don't even know what it is."
"If you're smiling like that, I don't need to."
Eli ignored him. "Ding-dong ditch."
A chorus of groans erupted around the table.
"Original," Hayley muttered.
"Not finished," Eli said. "Ding-dong ditch, but with a twist."
That got their attention.
Eli lowered his voice dramatically and glanced around the diner as though afraid of being overheard.
"We go out to Hemlock Wood."
The amusement around the table faded.
"We go to Old Greg's house."
For a moment, nobody spoke.
Old Greg was the town recluse. He lived alone deep within Hemlock Wood in a weather-beaten cabin hidden among the pines. Most people in Foxglove Falls only knew him through rumors. Some claimed he had been a war veteran. Others swore he was a fugitive hiding from the government. Every kid in town had grown up hearing a different version of the story, and none of them had ever bothered to find out the truth.
Which, of course, made him the perfect target.
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